


If you're not Long, I'll Wait for You All my Life

by SuperJupiter



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amnesia, Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 13:56:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4627821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperJupiter/pseuds/SuperJupiter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy and Clarke are in an accident</p><p>Bellamy's POV for The Only Way Out is Through</p>
            </blockquote>





	If you're not Long, I'll Wait for You All my Life

His life fell apart in thirty seconds. It happened like this. 

“The new show was gorgeous, Princess,” he told her, his shining eyes plainly showed how much he loved her. She smiled up at him, leaving him completely breathless in the wake of her brilliant blue eyes, and, in response, he only leaned down to peck her on the cheek, a hint of a smile gracing his lips. Even under the dark blanket covering the sky, he could still see her, gently illuminated by the fading lights from the outdoor tent that had hosted her latest exhibit.

“Okay, so which piece was your favorite?” she asked as they walked toward their car, hand in hand. He could tell she was nervous by the way her hand gripped his just a little more tightly and the way that she stared straight ahead, pointedly not looking at him. He knew that even now, even after dozens of shows, she still felt just as nervous as she had at her very first one. (He would know; he had been there.) 

“The one I’m taking home with me,” he smirked at her, winking as he opened the door for her. In turn, she waited for him to jog around and open the driver’s side door before responding. 

“I wasn’t part of the exhibit, Bell,” she huffed, her arms now crossed over her chest. “It was a big show for me; I’m being serious.” 

“And so am I. You’re a total piece, Clarke.” Clarke paused for a second, but she couldn’t help but laugh at that, her frown dissolving into easy laughter as she noted what a good line that was. She told him as much while he drove, and he couldn’t help but agree. 

“You say that to all the girls?” she joked. 

“Just to one,” he cooed back, a smile playing over his face, even though he wasn’t looking at her. It took everything he had not to look back at her and instead to keep his eyes trained on the road ahead. 

“Just for that, I’m wearing that little red thing you love so much,” she whispered, leaning over slightly to catch his hand, and he gulped at the thought, distracted from everything but her. He nearly stopped the car right there in the middle of the street so he could catch her lips in his and remind her how much he loved her. 

“Damnit, Clarke, I don’t care what you’re wearing, I just -” 

As the car jolted suddenly, the wheel jerked out of his hands suddenly, throwing him back against the seat. He vaguely registered a sickening crunch that resounded in the cabin of their sedan. Bellamy felt himself thrown backward, his head snapping against the headrest just as the air bags inflated, crushing his chest. Pieces of metal flew through the air as he registered the other car that had barreled into the passenger’s side. It had all happened in less than a minute, in a single monumental instant. 

“CLARKE!” he screamed at empty air. His head was pounding like a marching band had taken their personal residence in his skull, and he was sure that he was bleeding in a couple of places, but none of that mattered unless Clarke was safe. Clarke, Clarke, Clarke, he thought, his mantra echoing through his mind. Even through his blurred vision, he still registered the wreckage of the car around them. 

He looked over at her drooping form, hastily unbuckling his seatbelt and struggling to move toward her. As her eyelids opened slightly, he caught her bright blue eyes looking up at him, still clear and bright and alive.  
“Clarke. Oh thank God. Clarke, you’re alive.” He took her hands in his, holding onto them more tightly than anything he had ever held before, as if he could will her to stay here with him, as if his hands could hold her life together. She was slumped over, her face pale, her body weak. It tore holes in his heart just to look at her, but he bit back his tears. 

“Bellamy, I…” her eyes fluttered closed again, and he noticed the bleeding from her abdomen and the hunk of metal that had ripped open her side. His relief faded instantly, turning to alarm and pain and a million other emotions. 

“Clarke, baby, don’t leave me. I can’t do this without you.” His other hand was already fumbling for the phone in his pocket, dialling 9-1-1. 

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” the operator asked on the other end. 

“My wife and I were in a car accident on 9th and Monroe. Please, send an ambulance. My wife’s been critically injured.” He barely listened as the operator reassured him, feeling only worse when he hung up the phone. His breath was already ragged, catching in his throat, and he could barely breathe because of the agony that was already wrenching his heart out. 

“Bellamy?” she croaked at him, and his heart shattered once again. “It needs - It needs pressure.” Her hands were already moving toward the wound, trying desperately to hold her intestines into place. He placed his hands over hers, tears staining his cheeks as blood stained her dress. 

“Oh God, Princess. You have to fight, you hear me? I need you.” He was crying now, his tears running seamlessly down his cheeks and dripping heavily onto his collar. 

She looked up at him again, her eyes meeting his, and despite the pain, they were surprisingly clear and bright. “Bellamy Blake I love you more than anything in the world. You are my first, my last, my only love. If I don’t make it” she wheezed here, trying to regain herself for a second. “You have to _move on_.” Bellamy shook his head rapidly at her, muttering “no” over and over again beneath his breath, but stopping as her piercing blue eyes caught his brown ones. His lips were trembling at the thought of losing her. “Listen to me, Bellamy. I want you to be happy. I don’t care if it’s with me, and I sure as hell am not going to cause you pain after i’m dead. So I need you to promise me. Promise me that you’ll move on after I’m gone.” 

“Clarke don’t -” He tore his eyes away from hers, settling instead a spot above her ear. He knew that if he looked at her he would have no choice but to agree. 

“Don’t “Clarke” me,” she sassed back, cutting through his tears. “I’m not going to die waiting for you, Blake. Hurry up and promise me.” Her blue eyes caught his brown ones and he crumbled instantly, hoping against hope that this wouldn’t be the last promise he would ever make her. 

“I promise,” he whispered, his throat clenching once again, constricting his breathing. 

“Good,” she said, managing a small smile. It seemed to take something out of her to do even that. “Here,” she told him as she grabbed one of his hands from where it was pressed into her abdomen. She placed a small object into it. “my last gift to you, Bell...” He looked down at the golden wedding ring that she had placed into his hands, slipping the bloody thing quickly into his pocket before resuming pressure on her gaping wound.

“May we meet again,” she told him, the ghost of a smile settling on her perfect lips. 

“May we meet again,” he parroted as she drifted out of consciousness.

 

He couldn't say how long they were there until the paramedics arrived. It must have only been a few minutes, but to him it was an eternity. They arrived in a hurry, shoving him away from her and barking orders at those around them. He elbowed a paramedic as they tried to tear him off her, only calming down when he saw them placing pressure on her wound and moving her onto a gurney. They dragged him to a gurney, which he resisted fiercely, despite the pounding in his head. He couldn't just stand by and let her die while some idiot looked at his scrapes.

In the end, they had to strap him to the gurney to keep him from nearly murdering one of the damn paramedics. He only calmed down when one of them assured him they were doing the best for her, that he would only get in the way of things. He could see them also tending to the other man in the car that had hit them, and he wanted to kill that guy too. _If Clarke doesn't make it_ he thought _this guy is going to regret it_.

It was an even longer eternity that he ended up spending in the ambulance. Clarke's last message played on repeat in his mind, and he could only think _What did I do to deserve her_? When they eventually reached the hospital, he watched in shock as they wheeled his princess through the doors, calling for doctors. He saw the swarm of them around her, and knew that this was the best anyone could hope for, the best anyone could do for her.

They checked him out as well, though with less hurried steps. He was plenty dizzy and scratched in a couple of places, but all of that had seemed irrelevant while Clarke was bleeding out. He vaguely registered that somewhere in the middle of things Octavia arrived, bringing a storm of anxiety with her. Instead of flooding him with questions, she spoke with her silence, letting him wallow in his grief. She did nothing to stop the inevitable stream of tears that soaked his face, instead letting him cry it out until he was ready. Instead she just squeezed his hand once as assurance. When he had finally been released, having been thoroughly examined over the course of the night, the sun was rising as the first rays of light alit the sky. And when Octavia drew away the man asking about insurance information, he could only shoot her a grateful look.

“Go find her, Bell. I got this,” she whispered to him, patting him on the back. He nodded in response, unable to find his words yet. He knew he could thank her later. 

He rushed through the hospital, asking about a Clarke Griffin. No one knew anything, and no one was particularly inclined to help him. He waited feverishly in a dozen different waiting rooms, asking anyone who he could find about her. After two hours of this had passed, he could feel the anxiety in his chest strangling his heart. It took him another half hour to realize what he should have done three hours ago; he called Abby. 

“Please enlighten me as to why you’ve decided to wake me up during the pre-dawn hours of the night, Bellamy,” she snarled into the mouthpiece when she picked up. 

“Well I’m sorry if your daughter’s life is interrupting your beauty rest.” At that she only laughed bitterly. 

“My daughter doesn’t want me involved in any part of her life - she’s made that very clear.”

“Damnit, Abby, I’m not fucking around. You can argue with her all you want, I just need you to get down to Windside Memorial and tell me if my _wife_ is alive.” He could audibly hear Abby’s sharp intake of breath as he mentioned Windside, and the following pause was perversely pregnant. 

“Clarke’s at Windside?” her words were breathy and weak, reminding him of Clarke and giving him an unenviable pain in his chest. He hated that they were similar, that anything Abby did could be anything like Clarke. “I’ll be there in ten.” The click of the phone reminded him of where he was, and, finally, he allowed the sob that he’d been holding to rip through his body, tearing him to pieces like a piece of meat split among hungry dogs.

He knew where she would park, from all the times Clarke and him had met Abby here, so he waited there patiently, his hands shaking as he clutched Clarke’s ring between his fingers. Although he was freezing cold and utterly exhausted, the minutes passed quickly, so it seemed only minutes to him before he saw Abby’s Audi pulling into the lot, the tires screeching as she nearly hit the car next to her while trying to pull in so quickly. 

She barely gave him a glance as she strut into the hospital, throwing her coat on as she walked. “I made some calls. She’s in surgery now,” Abby said, without even looking at him, still walking brusquely to the hospital entrance. Bellamy’s body almost collapsed with relief under the knowledge that at least Clarke is alive. 

“Oh, thank god,” he said, the words slipping out. At this, Abby actually stopped, taking a moment to glare at him. 

“My daughter is dying on an operating table in there. Now you might be grateful about that, but I know what it’s like in there; anything could happen to her on that table. So I’m going to go in there and save her life. Go home, Bellamy. I think you’ve done enough for one night,” she scoffed at him. She glared at him, her eyes accusatory and angry, as if to imply that it was his fault.

“Screw you, Abby. It wasn’t my fucking fault.” He felt the tears coming up again through his medically-induced haze, but he bit them back, choking on the feeling in his stomach. 

“You’re right, it wasn’t your fault. It was hers for marrying you in the first place,” she snapped, walking away from him even more quickly than before. He jogged to catch up to her, stepping in front of her with his body to block her. 

“Hey, that was Clarke’s decision. You don’t have the right to decide who she does or does not marry. I love Clarke more than anything, and there’s no one- not you, or anyone else - who can tell me otherwise,” He snarled at her, now so damn angry that Abby could blame them for this accident. 

“I don’t give a damn how much you love her. She’s too good for you. Always has been, always will be. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go save my daughter.” Abby’s voice had turned cold and hard, making it clear that the conversation was over. 

Bellamy let her walk away, watching as she stepped around him and into the hospital. _She’s right. Clarke’s too good for me, always has been, always will be_ , he thought to himself, struck by how true the words were, even if they had just come from Abby Griffin. He made himself a promise then, as he stood outside the hospital, the cold air whipping at his neck and leaving chills running up and down his spine. _If we survive this, Clarke, I’m going to make it up to you. Every day for the rest of our whole damn lives._

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this was horrible and I am sorry. I hope that people who read this are also reading my main fic, which is a bit more developed. It's called The Only Way Out is Through. This probably could have been better, but I felt bad about not posting as often as I would like, so here you go. Thanks for reading! Also, this title is a quote from Oscar Wilde. I'm probably not going to write anything else from Bellamy's point of view unless demand is pretty high, so if you really want that, you should tell me.


End file.
